


I Don't Want Your Civil War

by cobainandstylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cheating, Daddy!Zayn, M/M, daddy!harry, side of lirry + zouis, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobainandstylinson/pseuds/cobainandstylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's a young, single father who wants it all to work + he's always known Zayn's support but when infidelity strikes, he finds it increasingly difficult to pull it together for his daughter, Darcy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Darcy Bean Styles, get your cute, little butt UP!" I pinch at her sides beneath the red and black checkered comforter. She offers me a groan and a glimpse of her brown curls spilling onto her pillow in a tired mop. 

"Come on, baby. I've got to drop you at 'care before work- Miss Mary said she's very excited to see you." I say as enthusiastically as possible at 6:56 am. She slides the blanket beneath her chin, peering at me with weary, emerald coloured eyes that droop ever so slightly. I prop my chin upon her stomach, lying flat now and return her stare. 

"What're you lookin' at?" I tease, but she's having none of it. 

"I don't like Miss Mary." she says.

"You love Miss Mary!" I protest and blow raspberries at her cheeks until she pushes me away.

"Before she poked you with her privates." 

I shrink back and I can feel my cheeks radiating tomato. 

"Darcy, don't say things like that." I sigh and gather her in my arms. Holding her tight to my chest, she squirms restlessly before finding the familiar nook in my shoulder where she nuzzles her face- as she has since she was one day old. 

"My Papa said so." she murmurs halfheartedly. I feel the tide of my lip curling between my teeth, crossed with both rage and that offbeat nostalgia- the one that makes your heart palpitations lopsided and uneasy. It makes me sad, and I really, kinda want to cry and break down and listen to Alt J. 

"Do you wanna bake cookies after school?" I inquire, setting her upon the favourite futon tucked away in the corner of the living room. 

"Uh huh." she tucks her thumb into her mouth, eyes drawn to the TV where Wild Thornberry reruns are on. 

As the water warms in the metal basined kettle, I type out a message to Zayn.

To: Zayn Malik:  
Why the fuck would you tell our daughter that I'm sleeping with her teacher? 

I'm spreading marmalade across a crumbling slice of sourdough toast when my phone heaves a single vibration in the front pocket of my black sweatpants that hang loose around my protruding hip bones. 

"Here Bean, eat fast." I place the toast on a Monster's Inc. plate in front of her where she's been nibbling at the meat of an orange rind. 

My phone gives a second buzz and sighing, I fish it out of my pocket. 

From: NIALL:  
u comin out 2nite? 

I decline the offer before moving on to the next one- Zayn. 

From: Zayn Malik:  
Maybe cos you are???? 

To: Zayn Malik:  
so what if I am? you can't tell her that- you've got no right. 

"Darce, you done?" I ask and she nods deligently with a smile dusted in bread morsels. 

"Alright- go brush your teeth please." 

I sigh, running a hand through my curly brown hair that I haven't bothered to comb this morning because for Christ's Sake, I work at a fucking gym- and sometimes I just don't want to wake up alone and have to try.

It's slightly awkward at daycare, when Mary asks to hang out again, because it's been only three months since my bed was occupied by a warm, tan body. And I miss raking my fingers through the black quiff as he fucked me into the mattress during Darcy's nap time, his palm over my mouth to suppress any excessive groans. 

So I tell her I've been busy, which really isn't a lie: working six days a week, taking care of Darcy. She gives me a tight lipped smile in response and says she understands, even though she doesn't.

"I love you, okay? Your Papa will pick you up later." I murmur into her scalp as she wraps her arms around my waist. 

"After we make cookies?" she inquires and peers up at me momentarily with those wide, green eyes identical to mine. 

"Course." I smile and give her a final squeeze. 

"Love you too, Daddy." 

 

"Ay, how're you? Lookin' a bit off, mate." Niall pipes from across our shared office (which is really an oversized cubicle that used to be occupied by expired ink cartridges). 

"Yeah, just dumb shit, you know?" I reply absentmindedly as I begin drafting a grant document that is due to The London Cross' financial department by Monday (it's Friday).

"It's Zayn, huh?" 

That's a rhetorical question. I cock my eyebrow at the blonde lad; who is leant back in his chair, tipping dangerously with his modest loafers balanced along the edge of his desk. I've worked with him for six months now, and have known him for around three years. He was Zayn's roommate at UNI for a semester before Zayn moved in to help with Darcy when her mom left. I wasn't willing to be friends with him at first- I'm shy, but I soon discovered that the friendship was inevitable. He wormed his way into the Godfather position based on his interactions with Darcy and his superb ability to get a motherless and shrieking newborn to fall asleep within four minutes. 

"Come out after work, yeah? You need to unwind, Harry." 

"If I can finish this." I reply. 

He sighs, "Alright." 

 

I get off early at six today and stop by the nearest Tesco to pick up some Pillsbury cookie dough before heading to retrieve Darcy, who is slightly irritable upon waking from a two hour nap. 

"I'll be around tonight- I know you get lonely without Darcy on the weekends." Mary says as I strap Darcy into her booster seat. I nod, because I probably will end up calling her and feel absolutely shitty about it when I can't stand to watch a single episode of American Horror Story by myself. 

 

When we get home, I change Darcy into her pyjamas and sit her in front of me as I place the frozen bricks of cookie dough about one inch apart along the metal baking pan. 

"Can you get my wallet from my coat pocket, please?" I ask her, nodding towards the rack where it rests beside the door. She nods and retrieves the leather booklet. I dig out a transparent pouch in which I store a collection of various studs and rings that are considered inappropriate from 8-6. 

"When can I get one of them?" she inquires with wide eyes as I slip a metal hoop through its puncture hole towards the left corner of my lip. 

"When you're older," I lie, "it hurts quite a lot."

I never want her to get anything pierced- it's too destructive and harsh for her fair skin. 

"When're the cookies gonna be ready?" 

"Fifteen minutes- are you packed for Papa's?" 

She shakes her head and sheepishly tucks the tip of her sippy cup between her lips, sucking occasionally. 

"Alright, I'll be back." 

I tuck her necessities into my old Scooby Doo backpack- three t shirts, jeans and underwear, her favourite blanket and pillow. 

"Daddy, it's beeping!" she calls from the kitchen. 

"Coming!" I pick the bag up by the handle and follow the timer to the kitchen. 

"When is Uncle Ni comin' over?" 

"He'll be here when you get home, he said he misses his little D-bear!" I peel the oven mitts from my hands and pinch her cheek for emphasis. 

"Thank you!" she beams and proceeds to gobble down the three sugar cookies allotted for her on the Dixie paper plate. 

"You're welcome, bean." I smile. 

Untucking my black button down from my pants, I shuck my torso of the shirt and run a hand down the tattooed expanse of my bare chest. 

I admire the portrait above my heart on my left pectoral- Zayn's own handy work; a detailed sketch of Darcy in her natural element playing with her Legos. 

You're my everything  
Harry Edward, Zayn Jawaad, Darcy Bean. 

“Fuck that.” I murmur and drag my finger nail across the the second name. And for an instant, the black lettering is eliminated by a white scratch mark that disintegrates within five seconds. 

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, followed by a yelp from Darcy as she scampers ahead of me to greet the visitor. 

“Dammit Zayn, we agreed on 7:15, not 6:45. Jesus Christ, you’re such an- oh.” 

 

It’s not him, entirely opposite in fact: a boy with golden skin crypted with ink sleeves and various piercings, his hair brown tinted an artificial crimson. But it’s his eyes: turquoise and aquamarine and navy all at once that have got my vans stapled to the floor and senses frozen, drawn only to him. 

“Loubear!” Darcy squeals from behind me, throwing herself forward and into the arms of the man upon our ironic Welcome mat.“Hey Darce,” he grins politely before turning back to me, “Sorry Zayn told me to get her when I got off of work and it’s a Friday-” 

“Bean, can you get your Papa some cookies? I’m sure he’ll love that.” I say and she huffs, before wriggling from the man’s grip and back to the kitchen where she’ll putter around for a few minutes. 

“You Zayn’s new boy toy?” I smirk, leaning my shoulder against the wood frame of the doorway. He rolls his eyes, gnawing at the silver ring curling around his lip and rakes his gaze down the expanse of my chest. 

“He said you’d be stubborn.” 

“Did he now?” 

“Also said you’re quite the shag.” he replies cooly.

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest twink Zayn’s ever taken in? Tell him I miss him stretched around me.” I exclaim mockingly, and watch as his face contorts into something flushed and aggravated.

“Bye Daddy!” Darcy exclaims. I heave her into my arms and press a kiss to her button of a nose. 

“I’ll see you Monday, love!” I hand her to the man and watch them saunter off down the hall to the stairwell. 

To: Zayn Malik:  
Now I can see why you don’t let him top- that’s gotta be the nicest arse I’ve ever seen! xx your babe, Haz

I’m almost crying as I send it, choking down anxiety and the intoxifying element of dealing with the only person I’ve ever loved. He doesn’t respond. 

So I call Mary and she’s over in half of an hour, crouched on her knees, sucking me dry with her mouth, hasty and sloppy.  
Injected with 7 ounces of Jager, my tongue is buried base deep in her pussy, twisting blindly in search of an undiscovered g-spot until she fakes an orgasm just as the muscle begins to cramp. 

I reheat pad thai and split it between the two of us. We watch Friends reruns and I listen to her talk about her life back in Ireland on her sheep farm along the outskirts of a golf course that she worked as a waitress at during the summertime. 

She’s really pretty too, especially when she buries her head into my neck and nips at the tender skin there. When we’re in the shower and she massages soap into the trail of hair from the base of my cock to my bellybutton- I like that too. 

“Boxers or sweatpants?” I ask her as she gives herself a final rub down before taking the pair of checkered briefs from my left hand. 

“Wanna see Gatsby tomorrow?” she inquires once we’re tucked into bed, my arms snaked loosely around her hips. 

“I can’t, promised Niall I’d go out with him and the guys after work. Maybe next weekend though?” I reply, bluffing. 

“Yeah.” she says, almost inaudibly. 

“Wanna sleep?” 

“Yeah.” she repeats and hands me the remote from Zayn’s old nightstand. I click off the programme, and I feel her drift asleep against me. I follow soon.

The next morning when I wake for work I find a note pasted to the empty pillow beside me.  
thanks for last night, see you Monday. xx M

Slipping into a pair of black slacks (and grimacing at the fact that I’m associated with something that involves the term slacks), I tug on a white button down and proceed to slick my hair into a crusty mound sloping neatly at the peak of my forehead. 

Work is dull, and Niall can’t seem to shut up about the hangover he’s currently nursing. 

“Does that mean we’re not going out tonight?” 

“I’m Irish, Harry.” he rolls his eyes and continues to type at his desktop Macintosh. I snort and prepare myself for a long night. 

 

I’m aggravated on the drive to retrieve Darcy, and I grow steadily apprehensive as I climb the stairs to Zayn’s flat when I’m as irritable as ever. 

I’m half expected the golden boy when I finally ring the doorbell. There’s a few moment of scuffling feet being slipped into tennis shoes and a squealing bout before locks are unbolted and I’m greeted with the muffled moans of Tokyo Police Club coming from the corner CD player and Zayn. 

He’s shirtless, in a pair of my old briefs that cling to his pert ass- the waistband falling just below the arrow end of the heart tattoo inked across his hipbone. Shallow bags hang limp like tapestries beneath his eyes, and he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, the raven hairs just shading protruding jaw bones. I shift my gaze from the red Marbello tucked behind his left ear to his round eyes- the ones that change from hazel to bronze to brown and black.

“I’m sorry about the last couple of days-” 

“Darcy! Let’s go- I got doughnuts!” I move my head just past the doorframe to peer around for her, met with only a cluttered living room. 

“Harry-” he reaches with calloused palms at my wrist.

“Darce-” 

“Please, Hazza.” 

I snap my head at the nickname and meet his softened look with sharp eyes and a tight lipped expression, dangerously close to breaking. 

“You can’t- don’t call me that anymore.” I manage to choke out, my lower eyelids quivering beneath the weight of swollen tears. 

He shuts his eyes- scrunching them tight as if trying to retract them back into his skull where will emerge an extraordinarily unrealistic solution. I don’t know if he even notices the tears leaking from the strained corners that uproot themselves when he tilts his head back against the door jam. 

“I’m trying. I’m sorry- so, so sorry.” he manages, scrubbing viciously at his eyes with the heels of his palms. 

I remain silent and slip my fingers into the front pockets of my dark wash Levi’s, rocking back and forth along the soles of my ankle high boots- I look kind of homeless today, more so than usual. 

“I fucking miss you, Harry- miss fucking around during Darcy’s naptimes, waking up on Sundays and I miss your mum- your mum! During Christmas times when she ‘n  
Robin brought us peppermint bark, they'd watch Darce so we could have a night off, remember that?” 

His gaze is intense as it bores into me, like miniscule infernos penetrating my skull and before I know it- he’s grabbed my hips, pressing our chests to together and then my bottom lip is sandwiched between his chapped ones. 

I expect myself to pull away; I’ve imagined the same scenario various times over the last eight months (usually during shower wanking sessions), and I decided he was supposed to sucumb to me: tearing my zipper down, taking my entire length down his throat, gagging against me until I’m practically shrieking and spurting vast amounts of semen along the back of his throat. 

But I melt into it- the unrelated father of my daughter and I forget the endless fighting and reverted sex drive that resulted in separate beds for a couple weeks until I came home early to find him getting pounded by Darcy’s pediatrician. 

“DADDY, HELP!” 

We’re driven apart by the tread of Vans along the hallway and the squeal that follows. 

I stumble back against the inside of the doorway, panting and watch as Darcy allows the golden boy to catch up to her, gathering her small frame effortlessly into his bare arms. 

“Here’s her things.” Zayn stutters and hands me her backpack and blanket from behind the coat rack. 

“Bye Darcy-Darce.” 

The golden boy gives her a final squeeze before exchanging the four year old for a light peck against the elder’s scruff. 

“I’m gonna get the film ready, babe.” 

“Thanks.” says Zayn, avoiding eye contact with both of us. 

“Tell your papa bye, love." I whisper, trying to hide the fat tears rolling down my cheeks. 

"I love you so much, baby- I'll see you in a few days." 

I paw at my eyes with the overhanging sleeves of my sweatshirt before taking her in my arms. 

"Be good." he cracks, and I know he wants to cry when I look back at him, Darcy's head nestled into my neck. 

And I swear I catch an I love you, Hazza tumbling mute from his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

"Daddy! Daddy!" Darcy is jumping about the living room, hyped up on two Caprisun pouches. 

"What's up, baby?" 

I'm doing last minute touch ups on my quiff, reassuring every curl into place of the intended chocolate coloured wave. 

"Where're you goin'?" she inquires, eying my sleek grey suit with widened emerald irises. 

"I'm having dinner with some friends." I reply and move to plop down beside her on the sofa. 

"Why can't I go?" she looks hurt, and I lean in to press a kiss to her cheek. 

"Papa wanted to see you early this week." I say, which isn't entirely untrue. 

Niall had set me up with a bloke from his girlfriend's office, who just happened to come across some photos of me from Instagram and was apparently interested. It was a Thursday, so I texted Zayn for a favour (I rarely go out as it is and have never before switched dates). He had been stubborn at first, but eventually caved and said he’d be ready to pick her up at quarter to seven- he was already ten minutes late and my date is due any minute now. 

It’s then that the doorbell erupts, sending Darcy racing down the hallway to the door, where she struggles long enough with the locks until I can regain control of the situation, despite her protests. 

“Darcy Styles, please stand still.” I sigh, finally prying the knob from her hands and coming face-to-face with a pair of warm chestnut eyes, half blanketed by an overhanging brown fringe. 

“I’m Liam.” He says fondly, greeting me with a handshake and a shy smile. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Harry- please, come in.” I manage, gathering Darcy in my arms and leading him to the kitchen- which I’ve made decently clean. 

“This is Darcy, I’m so sorry- her father was supposed to pick her up fifteen minutes ago.” I blush, running a hand through her tangled hair. 

“Absolutely no problem, I made reservations for 8- nothing to worry about.” he reassures and just on time, Zayn arrives- bursting through the door, shirtless and panting. 

“Papa!” shrieks Darcy, worming her way from my arms to race towards Zayn. I force myself to refocus on Liam, who’s leaning awkwardly against the kitchen counter, avoiding eye contact with Zayn.

I can feel Zayn’s eyes on me, gaze intense and unrelenting as he murmurs sweet nothings to our daughter. 

“You look, yeah.” he chokes, taking in my full appearance and I really want to sink into the earth. 

“We should go,” I say to Liam, who jumps at the direct address, nodding enthusiastically. 

“They’re gonna go poke each other in the privates, aren’t they?” Darcy says to Zayn, less than subtly. 

“Darcy, that’s enough.” I say sternly, only to receive a threatening glare from Zayn. 

“She shouldn’t be punished for saying the truth.” he bites and I brush him off, taking Liam’s hand, cold and unaccustomed in mine. 

“I’ll see you on Sunday, baby girl.” I press a kiss to her temple before following the two out and proceeding on sharing an extremely uncomfortable lift ride to the parking garage. 

I express several apologizes to Liam on the way to the restaurant in his motherfucking Range Rover, though he only utters a series of abrupt chuckles, “It’s fine, Harry, really.” 

I sigh, adjusting the hoop cuffed around my bottom lip with a flick of my tongue and when he guides the car into the lot neighbouring Sabatino’s, I can’t help but feel out of place and figidity. I couldn’t afford to pay half the bill at a place like this, why the fuck would Niall do this to me? I could be sprawled out naked on the couch playing Black Opp campaigns. 

Liam’s a lawyer, and I find myself hot beneath the collar eying the way by which his Adam’s apple bobs with every intake of saliva- of course my mind ventures to imagine me spilling myself in copious amounts, down his throat. 

We go out on Saturday night, not that it went exceptionally well the first time. In ways I’m not keen to admit, I wanted to show up at Zayn’s clawed up and sexed out the next morning- I wanted him to know, and to feel, what I had to endure- to remind him of what he provoked. 

So limping up to his step at 11 am prior to politely executing Liam from my flat, I give the door two solid knocks before I’m enveloped in mist of axe and pepper and cleanliness. Zayn’s always had a particular scent to him after a shower, which I presume is why he’s damp and shirtless, only a square bath towel secured round his waist to keep him the definition of decent. 

His eyes wander to the deep bruises adorning my neck (which I have on unapologetic display), before taking in a heavy breath that’s shaky even on the exhale. 

“You’re dating him now?” 

I shrug my shoulders, “Don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

His eyes narrow and he straightens up, “If he’s gonna be ‘round my daughter, you bet your ass it’s my business.” 

I hush him, fuming as I hiss, “Lower your voice, I don’t want her picking up any of your bad habits.” 

“She’s at mum’s for the day.” he replies with a contented smirk, proud to have fucked me over. 

“That’s low, Zayn.” 

His expression softens when I turn to leave, and he grasps the meat of my bicep. 

“Can you come in for a bit?” he pleads, “please Hazza?” 

“I’ll text your mum to see when I should pick her up.” 

And when I can’t bear to face the forlorn shadow undoubtedly reeking havoc upon his chiseled features. He was my best friend, and I really want to turn around. 

*  
“Do you not find me attractive anymore?”

It’s abrupt, suffocating the constipated flow of conversation pinballing between the two of us and Darcy like saran wrap over last week’s birthday cake- one that has been since pulverised by naive fingers gradually retracting glaze from the meat of the dough. 

I send him a puzzled glance from across the table, “Darcy, why don’t you play with your legos for a bit?” 

She nods and slips from her chair to scurry off to her bedroom down the hallway. I place my knife along the raised ceramic lip of my dinner plate and direct my entire attention to Zayn, who’s shirked against the backing of his seat, as if taken aback by his own declaration. 

“What’s going on, Z?” I reach to take his hand, massaging his palm with the pad of my thumb. He swallows thickly and runs the unoccupied hand through his blackish quiff, which at this point in time has bleach stock decorating its front. 

“Harry, we haven’t fucked in over three weeks ‘n I just feel so frumpy ‘n unexciting ‘n I don’t know what to do!” 

He’s close to crying now, water building up along his lower eyelids and he begins to fiddle with the steel piece protruding from the farther end of his eyebrow. 

“Baby- I’m so sorry you feel that way,” I say in all honesty, “I’ve just been overwhelmed lately with work and Darcy, I’m really fucking sorry. I miss you inside me, Zee, I think about it all day- love cumin’ on your chest.” 

I murmur the last part, still conscious to the three year old puttering in the next room. He smiles, but his eyes are still reluctant, distrusting. 

“You’re so beautiful, Zayn- you deserve to be told so everyday, no matter how much shit’s goin’ on at the office.” 

This gets him, and he begins to cry: burying his head into the collar of my work shirt. 

And two hours later, after we’ve made love twice, he holds me close to him (he’s entirely finished with the submissive mood) and I breathe in the slight layer of perspiration coating his pectorals, occasionally tracing the tip of my tongue over the outline of a robin inked beneath his collar bone. The words that follow float nearly inaudible upon the steam of his retiring breaths, and I know it’ll haunt me till the day that I die: stinging if I were broken-down suicidal, maybe encouraging in situations of joy. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day, Harry Styles.”   
*


	3. Chapter 3

From: Zayn Malik:  
Darcy’s here. 

I’m in the midst of a wanking session, beating off to old pictures of him and I from when he got hired at the tattoo parlour near our old flat. 

To: Zayn Malik:  
Be there soon. 

Regaining hold of my length, I skim the pad of my thumb over my tip, swollen and red, leaking clear fluid that I spread evenly about my penis. I groan and try to memorize the picture once more before closing my eyes, trying to rekindle the feel of his mouth around me, the bob of his throat as he swallows each spurt of me with diligent gulps that coax me dry. 

And within seconds of this recollection, my balls are pulled tight to my body and with a final moan, my semen decorates my stomach and the sheets pooled around me. 

I sigh and stumble into the shower. Raking fingers through my hair, wet and flattened, I tuck the majority of it back into a grey beanie- one of Zayn’s hats from junior high. 

Darcy greets me at the door with a beaming smile that forcefully beckons me into his flat, where he and Louis are cuddled together on his sofa, molded like two misfit puzzle pieces. 

“Come on, hon- get your stuff.” I manage, swallowing back tears and a lump that lodges itself in my throat. 

“Papa! Daddy’s here!” she declares, harsh against the stale atmosphere. 

Zayn, laughing, stops to look over the space between his and Louis’ shoulders and sends me an indistinct nod, “Her clothes’re in my room.” 

I sigh and wander down the hall to his room where her clothes are spread haywire across his bed and floor. 

"Thanks, Zayn." I call over my shoulder, sarcastic and disgruntled as I toss various articles into her backpack. 

"Anytime, Harry!" he responds, equally as snarky. 

"Darcy, let's go." I say firmly. She's sat at the miniature plastic table behind the couch in the corner of Zayn's small living space, working a slab of green Playdough flat between flushed hands. 

She remains indifferent, reaching for a star cutout to mold the clay in front of her. 

"Darcy! I'm going to count to five and you better be ready to go- 1, 2-" 

"NO!"

"3, 4, 5- Jesus Christ, Darcy." 

Placing my hands beneath her armpits, I hoist her, screaming and flailing into my arms. 

"Say bye to Papa, alright?" I say tiredly, as she continues to squirm, now wailing into my chest. 

"Zayn, can you help me out here?" 

He removes his face from Louis' neck where it's been buried since my arrival to shoot me an annoyed glare. 

"I'm kinda busy, Harry." he smirks, pressing a kiss to the side of Louis' head. 

"You're such a fucking asshole." I snap, covering Darcy's ears with monsterous palms.

This gets Louis' attention, and he turns to face me, looking- to my upmost surprise- worried and sympathetic.

"I'd prefer if you didn't talk like that around my daughter." he says, eyes engaged and fierce. 

"She's hardly your's." I scoff and regret the words as soon as they've tumbled out of my mouth. 

Zayn’s face contorts into something mournful . Darcy begins thrashing violently in my arms, uttering the occasional, high pitched wails. 

“NO! Wan’ my Papa.” she cries, burying her face into the wool shoulder of my peacoat as I race down the stairwell in brisk steps. Maybe if I go fast enough, my indiscretions will be left behind to disaspirate in the stale aftertaste of our relationship. 

“If you don’t settle down, you’re going to be on time out until dinnertime.” 

She sniffles melodramatically, “Sorry, Daddy.” 

“It’s alright, baby.” I sigh, buckling her into her booster seat of my Ford Explorer. 

"What do you want to do tonight?" I inquire, craning my neck to peer in the rear view mirror. 

Her chin rests in the cup of her petite hand, and I wonder what she thinks about because her eyes are as emerald as mine and that promises anything but sound mental health. 

"I dunno." she murmurs and tilts her forehead so it's pressed flat against the window. 

"Miss Mary is coming over for dinner, is that alright?" 

I watch her keenly as we pull into the parking garage to our flat. 

She doesn't respond. 

"Baby?" 

She cries and without thinking, I unbuckle her carseat and hold her close to me. She buries her face into the upturned collar of my flannel, sniffling still as I scale with heavy steps up the four flights of stairs home. 

Niall is splayed out on our sofa when we arrive, sobbing in drunken tremor. 

"Hey- Ni, what's wrong?" 

I kneel beside him on the carpet, allowing Darcy to snuggle into his chest between us. 

"Why're you crying?" 

He chuckles dryly, "Why're you crying, Darcy Bean?" 

Giggling, she wipes the tears from her eyes and rids her nose of snot using the sleeve of her wool sweater. 

"I'll order pizza." I decide, smiling. 

"Extra cheese, pepperoni and-" 

"Jalapeños!" finishes Darcy. 

"That's right, pretty girl." Niall exclaims and the two continue to banter back and forth while I call in the order. 

Liam and I have plans for Tuesday, and over dinner I arrange for Niall to watch her for the night, with the exception of full disclosure the following day.

I realize that we’re friends- good friends- when he helps me put Darcy to bed that night. He distracts her with music from his iPod as I smuggle her into the bath.  
As she sloshes about the tub, he teaches her the lyrics to Better Man, which I use as an opportunity for life lesson.

“Darce listen to Eddie Vedder, here- don’t settle for less alright?”

She shoots me a confused glance and I’m inclined to clarify. 

“Don’t let a boy be mean to you.” I sigh, heaving her out of the basin and into a soft, cotton blanket. 

She shrugs into the warmth and allows me to shiftly dry her off with the thought of choosing her own pyjamas. 

“Daddy can’t catch me!” she shrieks once I’ve set her free, booking it down the hallway to her room, naked as the day she was born. I seize the moment to indulge in adult conversation with Niall, which is short lived and slightly nonsensical, I gain the just of what went arie. 

“She just up ‘n left- came home last night ‘n she was waitin’ up with a case full a everything she owns ‘n some a mine too, might I add. Shit, mate- it fucking-” 

He collapses into me, and I wrap my arms around his shuddering body as he heaves ragged breaths into my chest, where Darcy had been only hours prior. 

“What’d she say?” I murmur, stroking from his bleached hair down to the middle of his spine before circling back up with the tips of my fingers. 

He sobs harder before Darcy wanders in again, the look of pride she wears disapparating as soon as she notices Niall, trembling in my arms. 

“I’ll be in in a sec, baby.” I call to her with a weak smile and lower my voice to suit Niall, “Go ‘n wait in my room, yeah? I’ve just got to tuck her in.” 

I give him a pat and trail after Darcy to find her crouched in front of her meager bookshelves, filled to the brim with library rentals. 

“Ready for bed, little bean?” I ruffle her curls before lifting her weary body up from the armpits to cuddle her close. 

“I love you, Darcy, so much.” 

“I love you, too, Daddy.” she replies, yawning and tonight I can’t even bother to ask her if she’s brushed her teeth because she so sleepy and beautiful and like me that all I am left with is to tuck her beneath the covers and place kisses across her cheeks.

“Sleep tight.” I say finally. 

“No bugs, bite.” she murmurs and with that surrenders to unconsciousness. 

I fetch a sleeve of chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen and place them on the nightstand beside a passed out Niall, and switching off the lights, I resign to thinking about Zayn and Louis and me and Zayn and Louis. 

And I miss him.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s late Sunday night when I receive a panicked call from Zayn. Niall and I have been relaxing on the couch, enjoying the Liverpool v. Manchester match. 

“Darcy- she had stomach pains ‘n next thing I know we’re in the E.R. ‘n-” 

“Zayn, where are you?” 

“West Pediatric- please hurry, Haz, I’m scared.” 

“I’ll be right there, Zee- five minutes.” 

Mindlessly, I shove my feet into my favourite pair of worn leather boots, ignoring Niall’s ceaseless questions and instead, tugging him out the door with me. 

“Quickest way to West Pediatric?” I ask, shifting the car into drive. 

Niall scrambles into the passenger seat just as I begin to pull out of my parking space, “I have no idea, uh- shit, take Pine, take Pine!” 

My breathing grows heavier as we merge onto Hospice Road from Pine and we’re surrounding by ambulances that tear by on either side of us.  
I barely put the car in park before I’m rushing through the entrance, Niall trailing behind having pulled the keys from the ignition. I’m greeted by a middle aged secretary at the front desk, and by this point I must be a right sight beneath the flickering florescences, drunk off denial. 

“My daughter was admitted-” 

“Name?”

“Darcy Styles-Malik.” 

“Relationship?” 

“I just said she’s my daughter, Jesus Christ-”

“Hazza.” 

A hand meets the small of my back, familiar and kind in the cold sterilized holding room. I whip around, met with gentle eyes, amber and gold. The sob I’ve focused on choking down is dislodged when I find myself encircled in caramel and ink arms. 

“Hey, I know, I know. It’s alright, Haz, she’s gonna be okay.” he breathes into my neck, snaking his arms firmly around my waist, and I cry even harder. 

“What happened?” I ask finally, allowing him to guide me to a waiting room couch where I curl into his side. 

“It’s her appendix, she was crying all yesterday, wouldn’t play, wouldn’t eat. I thought that she was just havin’ one of those days but when I put her down for a nap she started wailin’ ‘n holding her side ‘n it was awful, Haz. I’m so sorry, please don’t take her away from me-”

“Zee, this isn’t your fault, not at all- hey.” I pick his chin from my chest so our eyes meet. 

“Don’t beat yourself up for this, yeah? Could’ve happened with me- would’ve happened if I had her this weekend.” I explain in cool breaths, wiping my thumb across the skin below his eyes, in search of free willed tears. 

“I never want to see her ‘n pain, ever, ever again.” he murmurs, snuggling into the torn fabric of my oversized crewneck jumper- one we used to share. 

“I know, I know.” I smooth over his quiff, or what’s left of it. 

Niall takes the chair opposite of us, sending me a suggestive glance before promptly falling asleep. 

There are few others around us in the jungle themed room- a space complete with a small playset and other gadgets designed to entertain the relatives of patients, as if a stuffed giraffe could distract one from the fact that their child is hurt and unreachable. 

It’s nearing 12 am when Zayn rustles me awake. 

“Hey, Hazza?” 

“Wha?” I yawn, nuzzling my face into the scruffle lining his lower jaw 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I was a dick, too,” I sigh, sitting up tall- I’ve always been a head taller than him, “Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘M not talking ‘bout that.” he replies, pausing for a moment before continuing. 

My heart thumps at an uneven rate, and I look to Niall to make sure he’s still unconscious. 

“You and Darce were the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I fucked it up.” 

“You’ve still got her- she’s as much yours as she is mine.” 

He nods, “I wish I still had you.” 

And I can’t respond because Vans squeak on freshly scrubbed tiles and golden skin envelops Zayn in a rush of skunk weed and eyes the colour of the south pacific. 

“Sorry, I’m late, baby- how is she?” 

Louis pecks him on the cheek, settling into the other side of the couch. Niall stirs in the seat across from me and stretches into an upright position. 

He begins to speak, but our attention is diverted to the couple to my right. 

“Are you high?” 

Zayn’s back is to me now, and though his voice is calm and at ease, the veins along his neck are beginning to protrude. 

“Ashton brought some shit to work-”

“Wait, seriously?” he interrupts, knuckles popping. 

“Zayn, it was one joint- I’m sorry, I didn’t know your daughter would be in the hospital, Christ- I’m twenty one.” 

Zayn sighs, and sits back, focusing on the wall ahead and I notice that their hands are linked atop his knee. 

“Parents of Darcy Styles-Malik?” 

A doctor emerges from behind a pair of red and white checkered doors, just like the day she was born. 

Zayn and I rise, shaking. 

“You’re both her- okay, she’s in recovery. Things went smoothly, she’s a bit groggy but that’s expected.” he explains. 

“Can we see her?” Zayn inquires, to which he nods and beckons down the hall to another starch room, where I find my baby hooked up to an IV, fighting sleep. 

“Daddy.” she manages to croak, voice thick with sleep and medication. 

“Hey, little bean.” 

I pull up a chair to her bedside, allowing Zayn to perch on the narrowing armrest. 

“How’re you feeling, Darcy-Darce?” 

“S’eepy.” she shifts beneath the thin hospital blanket, grasping my hand. 

It’s cold and small and I’m afraid that if I clutch it too tightly she might break. 

“Rest, baby.” Zayn sighs. 

And she passes out, just like that. 

“You, too, Hare.” he murmurs into my scalp, massaging my curls with nimble fingers. 

I groan softly, “I’d understand if you wanna go back out there- hang out with your boyfriend, he did come out here for you.” 

“No,” he says, firm and certain, “I’ll text him to meet me at mine later.”

“Alright.” 

I tilt my head back against the stiff wicker backing of the chair and relax my eyelids. 

“‘N Haz?” 

“Huh?” I focus my attention on him, memorizing everything from the way a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth to the loose thread at the fringe of his flannel. 

“Louis’ not my boyfriend.” 

And I can’t help but smile and tug the boy into my lap, immersed to his scent of ax cologne and stale cigarettes, not to be disturbed until the mid morning hours. 

 

It’s 9 am when I awake to delicate whimpers from the girl across from me. 

Zayn’s still cuddled into me, and I remember how much I used to love to watch him sleep, as odd as that sounds. When Darcy awoke in the middle of the night during her teething months, I would often let him sleep through selected tantrums. And when I had calmed her down with a frozen ring, I would slip back into bed and prop myself up on one elbow and I study him. All of him: the portrait like mine stretched across the right side of his chest, the scars adorning his inner wrists (a habit he’d picked up during middle school), all the other miscellaneous tattoos and places where he had never shaved. 

“Daddy- mh, feel icky, really icky.” Darcy cries again, drawing me out of my daydream almost immediately. 

“Alright, darling- I’ll ring for a nurse.” I reply, reaching over to press the large red button at the side of her bed. 

Zayn begins to shift in my arms, omitting slight huffs as he proceeds to nestle his face farther into the chest of my jumper. 

A nurse emerges with a brisk knock at the door, already cracked ajar. 

“How do you feel this morning, Miss Darcy?” inquires the middle aged man dressed in a pair of aqua scrubs. 

“Icky.” she retorts with a grunt, palming her forehead. 

“That’s pretty normal in the recovery stage,” he begins, turning to me and Zayn (who is finally beginning to relocate himself), “I’m going prescribe a low dosage z-pack that she is to use once a day for the next two, two and a half weeks. If her symptoms worsen anytime during those twenty days, don’t hesitate to bring her in.”

“Can we give her, like, the normal children’s tylenol as well?” croaks Zayn, still in my lap. 

The nurse nods, “That should be fine. Other than that I would say she’s ready to go home as soon as I write out that prescription. For the next four days, I would recommend that Darcy stays home with one or both of you, keeping activity to a minimum if possible.” 

Zayn and I exchange doubting looks, though turn our focus back to the physician, who was then busily scribbling upon a thick pad of medical notes.  
I take the slip from him and thank him before he leaves. 

“I can take the week off.” I decide, knowing Zayn must have appointments scheduled at specific times throughout the week. 

“But that’s not fair- I can-” 

“It’s rather selfish, actually. I need a break from work.” I sigh, running a hand through my curls- made unruly by the short lived slumber. 

“You’re positive?” 

“Course.” 

He sighs and for a moment we’re about to kiss- and that’s absurd. 

“‘M hungry, Papa- what’s for breakfast?” 

Zayn dips his head and chuckles softly into my chest, “I think your Daddy wanted to make us pancakes back at his house.” 

Teasingly, I flick him on the side of his head, “You little shit.” 

He practically giggles and lifts himself off of me, “Let’s get you dressed, huh?” 

He grabs a ball of clothes from the foot of her bed and shimmies her out of her hospital gown, peppering her face with kisses as he tucks her into each article of clothing, wary of the jagged insertion on her right side. 

“Did you drive here?” I inquire as we make our way down the hallway to the secretary’s desk where we pause to sign all the necessary release forms. 

“Yeah.” 

“Wanna meet at mine? She’ll hold you to that.” I smile hopefully, cradling Darcy in my arms. We’re outside of the building down, stopped on the curb and he nods. 

“Sounds like a plan. See you in five, Darcy-Darce.” he replies, grinning. 

She utters a slight squeal, wincing slightly, and takes my hand as we make our way to the car. 

Niall texts me to say that he hitched a ride with Louis back to mine and asks how Darcy is.

To: Niall:  
She’s good. we’re on our way home. zayn’s meeting us there for pancakes, u up for it?

I get a response almost immediately. 

From: Niall:  
ya. r u sure thts a gud idea? 

I type out a sarcastic reply when we reach a stoplight about two blocks from home. 

To: Niall:  
text like at least a 16 year old girl. be nice to z, k? if only for darcy. 

We meet Zayn in the lift and I can smell Niall’s disapproval radiating before we even enter the building. Darcy whines of cramps and I assure that she’ll get her medicine in a few minutes, with breakfast. Zayn chuckles, “You sound like Jack Nicholson in The Shining- ‘Come ‘n take your medicine’.”  
I can’t help but succumb to laughter and I wonder if he brought that up on purpose- our first date. We were sophomores in high school then, and there was a movie in the park on a Friday night in early April. It had still been cold when he’d asked me and knowing him now, it had been all part of a masterplan to get us closer, more intimate. The film that night had been, of course, the 1980 Stanley Kubrick production, and I found myself pressed up close to Zayn beneath his mum’s wool blanket throughout a majority of the two hour duration. 

He had been so gentle: pressing reassuring kisses to my forehead, cuddling me into him- “S’alright, Hazza- that man looks nothing like Jack Torrence, sh, baby.”  
I ended up spending the night at his place where his older sister had been babysitting Zayn and his little sisters while their parents were out of town (my own hadn’t known I was gay back then and Darcy had just been conceived- unbeknownst to me). The evening didn’t stem beyond sloppy handjobs and cuddles, but it was marvelous to me. He was the first boy to touch me, and it was right- much better than Taylor’s premature jerking. 

Zayn had stuck by me throughout the rest of high school- in Darcy’s terrible twos during mid terms, even when we fought more than reconciled. And he came with us to London, attending night school at a nearby community college while he tattooed during the day. I don’t know if I would have made it without him. 

 

Niall is half asleep when he unlocks the door, naked except for a pair of torn boxer briefs shrink wrapped around his hips. 

“Baby girl, how are you?” he inquires immediately, scooping her up in his arms where she begins to explain her hospital experience in distinct detail. He takes her to the living room and puts on Spongebob, playing with her and her set of barbies. 

Zayn follows me into the kitchen, settling on one of the bar stools surrounding the island counter. I operate in knee jerk reactions: pouring Bisquick into a ceramic mixing bowl and adding the required dairy products. 

“I miss watching you cook.” Zayn remarks and I’m glad my back’s to him because my face contorts into something swollen and vegetable-like. I don’t respond, only running a hand through my ragged locks as I maneuver the spatula around the solidifying batter. 

“Darcy, you want one or two?” Zayn inquires, provoking tiny feet to scamper along the floor towards the kitchen. She clings to my leg, peering up at me with curious, emerald eyes. 

“May I please have two- with butter and syrup?” 

“Of course, my love- wanna wait next to Papa, I’m almost finished with the second.” I say, rubbing at her shoulder blade. She nods and retreats to the unoccupied chair between Niall and Zayn. 

Once I’ve prepared the requested amount of flapjacks for my guests and daughter, I settle down on a spare kitchen stool opposite the three and divulge in a fruit cup. If there wasn’t so much tension omitted from Niall, it would have been wonderful and right, but there he was, cock blocked my idea of a family made normal by modern standards. 

I shoot him a look when the other two aren’t looking, to which he merely rolls his eyes, sighing. 

“So, Zayn, fucked any more doctors lately?” 

My fork falls to the counter with a clatter, and I am utterly stunned. 

“Darcy, why don’t you go play legos in your room?” 

“But-”

“Please, honey?” I beg. 

She heaves herself down with a huff and makes her way down the hall and to the left. Zayn has his head bowed towards his plate, aimlessly sifting the legs of his fork through excess syrup pools. 

“Niall, please leave.” I say, surprised as he is by my words. 

“You’re really gonna kick me out right now? After all he’s done?” he demands, gesturing like mad to the man the seat over from him, who by this point, is fully engaged in the conversation. 

“Harry, I’ll just go- he’s right.” Zayn murmurs and begins shrugging back into his jumper. I want to fight though, I’m ready. 

“No. You stay put.” 

I hardly ever snap and he stops what he’s doing. 

“Can you check on, Darce?” 

Niall nods, following the path to her room where he shuts the door and now it’s just me and Zayn and it’s real. He looks at me expectantly, simultaneously apprehensive because he knows it too. 

“Why?” 

There’s a significant pause as Zayn scrambles for the words his tongue has held for the last seven months.

“I want to know, Zayn, I want to know why you fucking-” I choke, breaking down in the centre of the kitchen and if not for my rigid grip on the counter’s edge, I would’ve been prone to collapse.

“I lost it. I’d talked to you, and I still didn’t feel loved-”

“DON’T YOU DARE PIN THIS ON ME, ZAYN MALIK- YOU’RE THE ONE WHO-”

“Hazza, baby, it’s all on me, I know that,” he pleads and even through my altered vision, I know he’s crying too. “I got so insecure, and I thought better me than you.” 

“You thought WHAT?” 

I’d never considered it, cheating. Especially not on someone so beautiful as Zayn. 

“You worked with Niall and all these blokes who would’ve gladly gotten on their knees for you- women too, ‘n I panicked. At Darcy’s checkup, I invited him over. He’d offered a few different times and I just, fuck.” 

His body trembles and he’s fully sobbing down, not even bothering to wipe away the tears as new ones are left to fill the aired space. 

“Zayn, I never, ever thought about anyone else but you.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

I bury my face in my palms, elbows supported by the marble table top and I don’t reposition myself until arms encircle my waist and I’m beckoned into that scent- musky tobacco and fresh cotton sheets and mornings when life is less ugly. 

And for the first time since we broke up, I surrender to it, that smell. I let it engulf me, regain its priority in my system, breathing it in heavy gulps. 

“Zee?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Come home.” 

“Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

"Darcy- it's late, I'm not playing this game with you." I sigh, struggling to keep her still enough as I knead conditioner into her dark brown locks. 

She groans, wriggling about at a more restless pace and I can't remember a day when she's been so disobedient. 

She'd been stubborn and irritable the entire day, rebellious too. Even when I took her to the park, she remained indifferent to my word. 

Niall and I hadn't been in contact for the last several days, and Zayn was sorting things out with his flat and Louis while I worked from home. 

"Darcy Styles-Malik, please sit tight- Daddy's really tired." I plead, rinsing out the sudsy ringlets. 

"No!" she shouts, jumping up suddenly to slip back into the basin of the tub. 

"Jesus, baby- come here." 

I hug her wet, shuddering body close to me, wrapping her in a towel as I carry her to her room. 

“Powerpuff girls okay, D?” I inquire, tugging a matching set of pyjamas out of her closet and hand over them to her.

She slips them on while I rummage around in the kitchen for her antibiotic and I'm relieved that she's stopped crying when I return. 

"Alright, baby- drink up." 

She nods and downs the cup in three fluid gulps, cringing as she does so. 

"Good girl." I coo, exchanging an Oreo between us. 

I steer her into the bathroom again for her to brush her teeth. 

"Can I sleep in your bed, daddy?" she inquires. 

Nodding, I take her hand in mine and tuck her into the left side of the mattress, allowing me time to run through my all my pre-sleep rituals, save the wanking.

"Alright my little one," I press a kiss to her forehead, settling in beside her, “Berenstein Bears tonight?” 

 

Her lapse in good behaviour carries on throughout the week, and on Friday morning she achieves an all time unacceptable; shattering my grandmother’s vase when I deny her a lunchtime doughnut. 

“I WANT PAPA!” she wails as I carry her to her bedroom for a timeout (an extreme rarity in the Styles’ house). 

I grit my teeth, “He’s at work- you’ll see him tonight.” 

“NO.” 

“Darcy- I can’t do anything when you act like this,” I explain, kneeling down next to where she sits on her bed, “if I take you to see Papa, will you promise to behave for the rest of the week?” 

She nods vigorously, “Yes, Daddy.” 

“You pinky swear?” 

We interlace our pinkies and with that, we’re walking down the street to High Voltage Tattoo. 

The bell chimes as we enter the building and we’re greeted immediately by the stale stench of cigarette smoke and a pat on the back from the shop’s owner- a fit New Zealander called Dan. 

“Harry- mate, ‘s really great to see you.” he says upon having exchanged conversation with Darcy. 

“Good to be back.” I reply, grinning sheepishly. 

He too offers me a broad, sincere smile and taking notice of the squirming child in my arms, directs us to where Zayn is supposed to be designing a chest piece in the back. 

I’m hesitant at first- not wanting to disrupt his creative process. 

“He’ll be stoked to see you- go on.” Dan urges before returning to his next client. 

I draw back a set of black curtains to find Zayn propped up against a cluttered work desk, clutching at its sides as Louis-knelt in front of him- mouths at Zayn’s cock with kitten licks. 

“Papa?” 

I immediately reach a hand across her line of a vision. 

Zayn meanwhile rushes to shove his tumescent cock back into the confines of his tight fitting denims. 

“No, no, Haz- please, shit-”

“You’re never to see either of us again. Don’t call me, don’t come by.”

Tears spill over the brim of his eyes, raining down his cheeks and I don’t stay to watch because I’m numb- indifferent to everything at this point, even Darcy’s wails echoing off of the shop’s mildew walls leave me without impression. 

And the only thing significant is the ding of the bell as I exit with hurried strides, because it was so fast- we were in and out of there, our fate as a family unit coming and going like take away. 

It was sad. Sad for me, sad for Darcy.


	6. Chapter 6

Six years later:

"Guess what? Darcy, guess what?" 

"Mhh, Dad- knock it off." she moans, cocooning herself farther among her bed sheets. 

"Not when it's your FIRST DAY OF SEVENTH GRADE!" 

She kicks out her leg and it’s hardly involuntary in trying to edge me off of the mattress. I retaliate by crouching on all fours above her, shouting various proclamations to urge her conscious. 

“I’ll take you to Niall’s after school if you get up. Right. Now!” 

With a final huff, she peeks her eyes over the covers to shoot me a dissatisfied glare, “Why’re you doin’ this to me?” 

“You’ve always taken after Zayn in this sense.” I murmur, looking down at her with aching eyes. 

She tenses up and eases her arms from their blanket confines, “I love when you mention the second parent to have ditched.” 

Fuck, I curse to myself- as if embarking upon middle school wasn’t horrendous enough, leave it to me to re create unnecessary turmoil.   
In the least, I’m relieved to see her out of bed, even if it does include me being shoved to the floor and I’ve made her mad. 

“I need to change.” she declares, sending me another irritated look. 

“Darcy, I’m sorry-”

“Can you just leave, please?” 

Tears are blossoming at her waterline and she wears an expression identical to that of mine when I’m caught suppressing emotion. I slip my arms around her shoulders, clutching her close to my chest as soft sobs surface her petite body. 

“Why’ve ya talked ‘bout ‘im? You keep bringin’ ‘im up ‘n I don’ like it, Dad- he’s a wanker.” she sniffs, peering up at me looking as vulnerable as the day she was born, thrashing about that rose coloured hospital blanket. 

“I know, I’m sorry- fuck, really sorry.” I sigh, brushing through her mangled coffee curls so identical to mine it’s borderline painful. 

“All I wanted was to give you what I never had, you know?” 

She nods and there’s a space of quiet before she speaks up again. 

“But you’ve done that- Liam’s like a father figure, too.” 

“Yeah.” I reply absentmindedly, my thoughts drifting back to the day when I begged Liam to come with us to Manchester. 

 

“It’s crazy, I know- she just needs this, us.” 

His chocolate eyes seem to sigh and he reaches across the cafe table top to cover my hand with his own and I remember why I’m here- the insides of his palms are well kept and reserved, like he uses lotion every morning after his shower. His skin is maintained, constant in every way. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay- as in yes? Or okay as in ‘okay, Harry, you’re too much?’”

He lets out a chuckle, taking a content sip from his mug of Yorkshire. 

“Both.” 

“Hey Dad?” 

“Huh?” 

“S’that why you kept him ‘round?”   
________________________________________________________

“You’re certain you’ve got everything?” Liam inquires from the passenger seat, twisted around to face the twelve-nearly thirteen- year old behind him. 

“Positive.” she replies, rolling her eyes as she reaches for the door. 

Once it’s open, a gust of cold air is let into the car and I buckle in an instinctive shudder. 

“I love you, Darcy Styles.” I say, soft enough for her ears only.

“Love you, too, Dad.” 

And she’s past the green curb on her way through a pair of concrete pillars and minivans with chipped paint are growing restless behind us, and so with his hand secured upon my knee, Liam steers us from the graveled loading zone. 

I don’t recall the last time I had felt so alone. 

“Li- fucking hell, keep going- baby yes.” 

He groans, chin tilted high in the air above me, as he proceeds to pound harder into the space between my spread legs. We had taken the day off for ourselves, to reunite after a rather lengthy, semi family oriented summer. 

Sure we had snuck in multiple late night sessions, my mouth stuffed with pillow, but being the twenty eight year old I am, I considered our sex life to be less than sufficient. It had been a week since he last fucked me, and during those seven days, I’d improvised with a series of shower wanks in the mornings before work. 

So to be interrupted by the relentless Marimba coming from Liam’s nightstand made me remarkably cranky. He reaches to take the call, attempting to pull out as he does. 

“You. Stay. Put.” I all but growl, maintained a steadfast grip upon his hips. 

“Shit- you’ve gotta be quiet, yeah?” 

Nodding, I grind down harder upon his cock, and I can tell he nearly loses it right then and there. 

“Th-this’s Liam Pa-ayne.” 

There’s more noise from the opposing end that I pay little attention to. 

“Oh shi-shoot, we’ll be right down- yes, I’m so sorry.” 

The glare he gives me is enough of a reason to allow him to shrug up the pair of slacks pooled around his ankles, propping the phone up on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, yeah- see you soon.” 

“What the fuck is going on?” I demand once the call’s been disconnected. 

“Our daughter is in the bloody principal’s office- chewed out her teacher in front of the entire staff!” he roars. 

I’m frozen, watching his fingers tremble as they struggle to rebutton his oxford. 

“Christ.” I breathe finally, peering up at him for any available sign of sympathy or consolement. 

“That’s all you’ve got to say, Harry? Her first fucking day- this is all you.” 

“All me? You don’t even know the circumstance and you’ve already pinned it on me- that’s bullshit, Liam.” 

I shove past him, tugging on a pair of skinny jeans and a rumpled flannel, preparing myself for a long, five minute car ride. 

 

We greet the office secretary with humourless smiles and I let Liam do the talking- he’s always been better maintained in these types of situations. She directs us to the vice principal’s office- down the hall, second door on the right- and it’s there everything makes sense.   
In chairs opposite a stern bearded authority, sit Darcy Bean Styles-Payne and Zayn Jawaad Malik.


	7. Chapter 7

“Liam- I’m sorry, shit, I didn’t know what to do-”

“You never know what to do, Harry.” he retorts sharply, tucking a couple sets of work shirts into his suitcase as he prepared for his early morning flight to his hometown in the West Midlands. 

“Don’t leave mad, please, Li.” 

I make a grab for his wrist, an attempt that proves itself vain as he jerks his body away from me, nearly falling backwards himself at the movement’s sheer force. 

“The last time I saw him was six years ago- getting head from a twink at work.” I explain, trailing him into our ensuite bathroom where he hastily stuffs a ziploc bag full of miniature toiletries. 

“You left me to deal with the situation ALONE with no clue how to compensate for my husband’s rotten behaviour-” 

“Who even said you had to do anything for me? You’ve always left me to myself,” I shout, arms flailing like windmills around my body, “why can’t my apology be enough for   
you?” 

“Because nothing can excuse the way you two looked at each other in that fucking office, like nothing had changed, and I’ve got to decide if I want to keep at second choice this time around.” 

And he’s gone, a goodbye to Darcy in the neighbouring room, promising to call her everyday he’s away. 

He says he’ll be spending the night at the Hilton nearest the airport, where he’ll be catching the first flight from Heathrow.

 

I take the next day off of work: Darcy’s been suspended two days on the count of verbal assault and she refuses to speak outside of two syllable figures. 

“Wanna watch a film?” I inquire once we’re sat together on the sofa, staring ahead at the tellie, where there’s a Full House marathon scheduled for the upcoming ten hours. 

She shrugs, dipping her hand far into the bag of crisps between us. 

“Wanna go for a dip?” 

Another shrug. 

“That’s it.” 

"Hey- what the hell!" 

“You’re going to talk to me whether you’d like to or not.” 

I ignore her cries as I sling her over my shoulder, carrying her of to my room where I prop her upright against a set of pillows as if she were a small child in the eye of a tantrum. 

She settles back into the mattress, fixing her eyes on the ceiling above. 

“What’s got you acting like such a rachet, Darcy? If anyone’s supposed to chew ‘im out, it’s me- don’t jeopardise your education to fight my own battles.” 

For the first time in three days, she becomes alert and engaged and everything that’s fiery about her seems to ignite in that single moment. She leaps forward, face level   
with mine. 

“That’s the problem- you never fight your own battles, and that’s why you’ve stuck with Liam-”

“How can you even say that? I’ve done everything to-”

“Dad, that’s a load of bullshit and you know it.” 

I stare back at her, open mouthed- in absolute awe of her perception. 

“I want you to be happy.” 

“I am, Darce.”

“No, you’re not.” 

 

Everything falls into its usual routine once Darcy’s returned to school and not a word is mentioned of her English teacher. 

It’s a Monday night when Liam gets home. Darcy, Niall and I are all mulling about the living room (I still haven’t told Niall about the whole Zayn incident). 

We had texted a few times over the duration of his trip, meager conversation of weather and traffic conditions and our daughter.

“Hi, babe.” I say shyly, peeling myself from the dinner table to press a kiss to his thawed cheek. 

“Hi.” he replies lamely. 

I heave an internal sigh and ignore the knowing look Darcy shoots me from across the room where she’s sat with Niall reviewing for a lit test. 

Liam greets the other two with a forced grin and small talk, giving Darcy a one armed hug. I trail him into the bedroom to watch as he begins unpacking immediately, back turned to me. Wordlessly, I wrap my arms around his waist and press a kiss to the sensitive space behind his ear. He hums into the touch and I begin my way down his neck, simultaneously skimming my fingers along the length of his solid abdomen. 

“Missed you.” I murmur between kisses. 

I drag my tongue flat against the area just below the collar of his shirt, blowing cool air against the vulnerable place and it’s just as I duck my mouth farther beneath the cotton material until I notice a bruise fresh against the base of his neck- one made probably the day before last, one that I myself most certainly did not make.

“Who was it?” 

He gulps, shuddering slightly and he stops his refolding. 

“S’nobody-” 

“Can you stay somewhere else tonight? Maybe for the rest of our relationship?” 

“Harry, it didn’t mean anything- I fuckin’ swear to you, I’m so sorry, baby-” 

“Fine, I’ll bum at Niall’s.” 

I don’t even remember leaving, or at least not so clearly. 

All I recall is waking up on Niall’s floor the following morning, Darcy fast asleep beside me on the couch. 

I check my phone and groan: seventeen messages, loads of missed calls- all from Liam, and Darcy’s missed school by two hours. 

Calling into work, I take the day off with several apologies before moving into the kitchen where Niall’s left a note above the fridge:

Hi H! Sorry- out of food. hope your better. xx ni

“You’re, Niall, YOU’RE.” I sigh beneath my breath. 

“Darcy, wake up, love.” 

She winces, taking a minute or so to adjust to the light and unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Wanna grab breakfast?”

 

We find ourselves at the Sidewinder cafe a block from Niall’s condo in a mid morning lull. It’s a crumbling brick establishment with a vine ridden gazebo and blue shutters and I sip Yorkshire from a North Carolina mug, very nearly content. 

Darcy’s slumped back in a lawn chair across from me, guzzling down her second serving of coffee and I can’t tell if she’s either sleep deprived or depressed, and I recognize that it’s a mixture of both. 

“Why’d we sleep at Uncle Ni’s last night?” she asks, caught in the silence after we’ve ordered.

“Liam and I need some space right now.” I reply simply.

“Well no shit, Dad.” she grumbles, pouring a Splenda packet into her half emptied drink. 

“Can you watch your mouth for a bit?” I demand and proceed to fiddle with the cuff around my lip. 

“Did he cheat?” 

Silence.

“Well, shit.” 

“Darcy!” 

“Hey- that uh, was a worthy use of the word.” 

I groan, burying my face into my palms, feeling the echo of my voicebox vibrating throughout my fingertips and I keep like that until the server brings our food. 

She doesn’t speak for a while either, nibbling cautiously at her eggs benedict. 

“I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“S’alright,” I say, looking up at her from my french toast, “you’re all I need anyway- you little kook.” 

Grinning, she shakes her head, “Need dick too, I reckon.” 

And by this point I’ve terminated the idea of censoring my daughter’s language and agree with a chuckle. 

“Right, right.” 

 

We stay at Niall’s for another couple of nights before heading back home. I end things with Liam- our six year relationship, everything and he doesn’t protest under any circumstance, only requesting to have a weekly lunch with Darcy. 

Darcy and I rent out a hotel room near her school where we keep until I secure a place a couple blocks from my work in the city. It’s a homey place, and I think it’ll suffice for the lonely fag and his Violet Harmon daughter.


	8. Chapter 8

"If I'm still alive, my regrets are few, if my life is mine- what shouldn't I do?"

I groan, shifting upon my mattress- I've just begun to break it in and it's so far unwilling to mold to my body shape. 

"Have I really got to go today?" Darcy whines, popping her head in through the door cracked ajar. 

"Yes, Darcy." I sigh. 

She groans and retreats to her new dormitory, leaving me alone to get ready.

Slipping into a pair of black skinnies and a worn beanie and t shirt, I lug myself down the hallway to the kitchen where Darcy is slumped over a bowl of Rice Krispies. 

“Why were you and Zayn together?” she inquires as I’m packing her a remotely nutritious lunch. 

“Christ- it’s far too early for those kinds of questions.”

She rolls her eyes, tucking the strap of her Jansport over her right shoulder and announces that she’s ready to go. 

“Yeah, yeah- give me a minute.” I sigh, checking my reflection in the microwave’s screen. 

“Leave ‘em in.” she says from the passenger seat when I remember to remove my various piercings at a stoplight. 

“Yeah?” 

"Yeah." 

 

I'm at work when Liam sends me a text confirming that he'll be picking Darcy up from school for a late afternoon lunch. 

To: Li<3:  
yeah that's fine- not too late tho. 

Niall keeps me company until Darcy gets home and for dinner after that. He’s just gotten out of a relationship himself, and we both fall to moping around and snuggling in the most platonic of ways. 

“How was Zayn today?” Niall asks Darcy from across the table where she’s sat in front of a mathematics worksheet. 

“Niall- there’s no need to stir the pot, ‘s already stirred quite enough.” I grumble between mouthfuls of soup from the chinese take out place down the street from the flat. 

“He’s full of shit.” Darcy replies shortly, eyes still fixed upon her assignment. 

Niall lets out a bleat of laughter, shrugging at me with bright, ice blue eyes when I shoot him an exasperated glare. 

“Don’t go there, Darcy- and I’ve told you to stop swearing twice now, Christ.” I groan, raking a hand through my rather greasy mop of curls. 

“S’not like I said it to his face,” she continues, “but I really wanted to- just so you know.” 

“And the Nobel Peace Prize goes to Darcy Styles-Payne.” I say beneath my breath, but I know she’s heard it when a slam signifies that she’s in her room. 

Niall turns to me, mouth twisted slightly as if he were repressed into oblivion.

“Out with it then.” 

"Why are you bein' such a prick?" 

I slump beside him upon the sofa, scrubbing at my eyes with balled fists, “Everything- all of it’s too much and happenin’ all at once and I dunno, Ni- I’m so overwhelmed and there’re all these blokes who leave ‘n cheat and at sometime I’ve got to wonder what I’ve done wrong.”

He takes a minute to absorb this, staring thoughtfully at a Burger King commercial on the television. 

“‘S bullshit, Hare, swear to yeh- I don’t get it meself, please don’t buy into that ‘n take it out on yer daughter.” he says finally, facing me with saucer eyes, pale blue.

“I should go up and talk to her, yeah?” 

He gives me a nod- tight and curt, and I’m headed to her room down the hallway. 

“Darce?” I call, knocking hesitantly at her shut door.

“Yeah.” comes the reply, unamused. 

“Hi.”

Pause.

“Can I come in?” 

“Reckon so.” 

I find her curled in on her side atop her comforter, still decked out in her school outfit. 

"M sorry, baby." I murmur, throwing an arm around her waist. 

"'S fine." 

"Things've been jumpy round here, you know? Then this shit with Zayn 'n you- I shouldn't have yelled-"

She cuts me off, "You're doin' alright, Dad- swear it." 

I hug her tighter, and we sit in comfortable silence until her eyes are drooping at the corners.

“Hey Darce?”

She utters a gentle grunt of acknowledgement, fencing sleep. 

“Do you remember anything about him- Zayn?” 

“Uh huh.” 

And she’s asleep before I can press further, snuggled into my chest. 

 

Two days later finds the three of us- me, Niall and Darcy sat round the kitchen table, dissecting her lit and comp homework due tomorrow. 

“Why’re you just setting about this now?” I scold her, sipping purposefully from my cup of Yorkshire. 

“Dad-”

“Don’t take it personal- he’s feeling sexually deprived.” 

"Niall! Shut it." 

They exchange looks from across the table, both suppressing laughter. I roll my eyes, "Enjoy poking fun at my sex life, or lack there of- whatever. I'm going to bed." 

"No- Dad, please! I need your help, please." 

"What's left for me to help you with- I barely passed high school." 

She squirms slightly in her seat and Niall gives her a subtle nod, urging her to proceed. 

"Can- do you still have, Zayn's phone number?"

"Oh hell fucking no-" 

"I really need help with this-" 

"You two are out of your fucking minds, absolutely not!" 

It's then I catch Niall slipping from his seat, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder cap. 

"Who's he calling?" I demand, facing my daughter with vivid eyes.

She offers me a shrug, "How'm I supposed to know." 

“You’re so full of it.” 

She sticks her tongue out and pretends to be busying herself with the work in front of her. 

“-thanks, yeah-kay.” 

Niall returns to the seat beside my daughter, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth and I know instantaneously that he’s done something to piss me   
off. 

“Zayn’s on his way over.” 

“Shut up, Ni.” 

Darcy giggles against her will, trying to muffle it with the palm of her hand. Her eyes, glossed over and identical to mine, flit between me and Niall. 

“You’re serious?” 

He shrugs, folding his arms across his bare chest and gets up to fumble about the kitchen. 

My blood runs hot beneath my skin, fists curling in against the oak countertop. 

“You’re fucking grounded, Darcy- I’m so disappointed in the both of you.” 

I push my chair away from the table, making my way down the hallway and my hand’s on the brass of the doorknob, pulling it back and-

“Hi.”


	9. Chapter 9

I’d been holed up in my bedroom for thirty-seven minutes now- Niall hadn’t even tried to get in. I let Zayn in without a word, avoiding Darcy’s eyes all the time. I reckon he leaves before nine and there’s slight murmuring when Niall puts her to bed and settles into place on the sofa. 

I don’t sleep well that night, hardly at all.

Zayn had been here- in the home I had established to rid all essence of him. And now he was everywhere- his smell like some type of fungus crested within the walls and corners of this flat, spreading even in his absence. It had sucked me dry by five AM when I should’ve been asleep. 

I take to work before anyone’s awake, stopping at Charlie’s for some tea on my way. 

 

I stay late, too: pouring over a new investment plan that I wouldn’t have done until Thursday. My boss kicks me out officially at nine o’clock after we’ve fucked over her desk and even then I can hardly fend off thoughts of Zayn. Caroline insists that I wear a condom even though she uses an IUD and we don’t talk about our lives outside of the office, even afterwards. 

She leaves a light bruise beneath my collarbone and another darker one on my neck and it breaches the edge of my work shirt. 

I know I’m being childish, especially when I make a detour at the vinyl shop, picking out Joni Mitchell’s Blue and a pack of polos. 

It’s raining and desolate walking home, Arcade Fire on through my headphones and I can see my bedroom lights on from the street. Climbing the stairs has grown taxing by the time I reach the second floor and I haul myself up the remaining three flights.

I find Darcy already asleep at the end of the sofa, blanketed in a mass of loose leaf papers and textbook. She groans when I gather her in my arms, allowing for the binder to fall to the floor. 

“Dad, ‘m sorry-” she says, squirming as I tuck her into her own bed. 

I press a kiss to her forehead, “Sleep, Darce- I love you.” 

But she’s already gone, breath heavy on her pillowcase and I look her over once more before retreating to my room. 

Zayn’s there, curled into the duvet on the mattress’ left side- the side he’s always liked best. 

I’m too exhausted to put up a fight now, shrugging out of my clothes until I’m naked save the briefs, tight and black, slung low about my hips.   
He turns to face me, eyes bleary with what I deem sleep deprivation and I slip beneath the covers next to him, snuggling into the worn front of his flannel. He switches off the nightstand lamp and it’s the first sign of us in seven years. 

 

“Jesus, mother of God- what are you doing?” 

It’s not as incredulous as I’d intended it to be so early in the morning, and it wakes up Darcy from the next room over. 

“Haz-”

“Don’t call me that, Zayn- we’ve been through this too many times before.” I sigh, choosing a white t-shirt from the set of drawers beside my bed.

“Please, let me talk-”

“How’d you find us, huh? Do people still use the yellowpages or are there websites where you can search up the exes who’ve left you? That can’t be good for domestic   
violence.” 

He trails me out into the kitchen where I put a kettle on the stove and begin puttering about aimlessly. 

“I’m sorry, Haz.” he says.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

 

The next week or so passes without further incident except for the reincarnation of Darcy’s night terrors and she ends up in my bed at two am every night.  
Liam found a two bedroom apartment six minutes from us and he comes by to move at the remainder of his things and takes Darcy with him for an early dinner. Saturday night leaves me alone to texting Caroline and eating various Pillsbury dough products. I’ve just received a picture of her pussy crushed beneath a strip of magenta coloured lace when someone knocks. 

“What?” 

Darcy files in, wearing a pair of oversized sweatpants (probably Niall’s) with her hair pulled tight in a bun. She wordlessly slips beneath the covers next to me, resting her head on my pillow. 

She peers up at me, eyes wide and apprehensive as they bore into mine. 

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

I sigh into my hands, grasping at my fringe with my fingers. 

“We- I, just want you to be happy ‘n you aren’t- not without Papa.” 

I sigh again and throw an arm around her. 

“It’s alright, love, it’s alright.”


	10. Chapter 10

“They don’t care that you leave ‘em in?” 

I shake my head, switching out my plugs for a new pair in the metallic end of a napkin dispenser. 

“Your boss really doesn’t mind?”

“Nope.” 

Darcy seems dissatisfied, spinning on her stool to tend to the remainder of her pancakes and bacon. 

“Are you seeing anyone?” 

“Okay- what’s up with the instigation?” I sigh, exasperated as I turn to face her. 

“You come home late, all chewed up- Jesus, I wasn’t born yesterday.” she huffs, pointedly avoid eye contact with me. 

It had been a week since Zayn had been over and in those seven days, an admirer had left various parcels at our doorstep during the times when Darcy was at Niall’s and I, work. My favourite See’s candies, a special edition collection Sylvia Plath’s diaries, unabridged Rimbaud translations (French and English), sunflowers, all awaiting the day’s end. Niall and I had been on a bit of a hiatus, but he understood and allowed me the time and space he knew I’d need. Similarly, Darcy evolved around me as if on eggshells- undoubtedly wary of my ultimate intolerance of anything Zayn-related, and her rediscovered nosiness caught me off guard. 

“It’s nothing, Darce.” 

“Aren’t you too old for this ‘casual fucking’ rubbish?” 

This comment in particular draws the attention of the nearby waitress and register attendant. 

“Listen, you can’t just run your mouth whenever you fancy- you know that, and secondly, I’m twenty eight and after a kid and two long term relationships, I can do what I want.” 

She nods, sulking slightly. I leave a twenty pound note beneath a ketchup jar (enough to cover breakfast with a handsome remaining tip) and follow her out the swinging glass door to the car. 

“Aw, knock it off, Darce.” I tease, reaching across the compartment between us to mess about her french braid (my own handiwork). She ducks out of my reach, angling   
her body to the window as to shut me out. 

“Guess it’s Fresh time.” 

“My flow harder than a bitch fucking good dope  
These hoes hating why these hoes so cut throat  
One hit wonder bitch, I make that shit pop  
He told me to go in, fresh, I pop that shit-”

“DAD! FOR CHRIS’ SAKE TURN IT THE FUCK DOWN.” 

I’m practically crying as I pull up to the front of her school, and she’s flipping me off once she hits the curb, walking backwards along the sidewalk. 

“Love you, Darcy Bean Styles!”

She ends up walking into Zayn, causing him to nearly fall into a shelf of potted plants. He’s laughing, and I start even harder than last time. 

“You two are fucking out of your brains!” Darcy says, chuckling too. 

She retreats with a shake of her head, smiling.

“Get in.” I say before I can stop myself and soon we’re spiraling down the highway, me and Zayn and Zayn and I. 

 

And it takes a while for things to resume to what they were seven years ago, and Harry can’t trust him for shit most of the time and they’re both overworked and Darcy and her adolescence takes a toll. 

He’s a good husband though, a better father than Harry, nearly, and he bakes her brownies with extra butter when she gets her period (it doesn’t need verbalizing) and he takes her through each essay sophomore year. 

When Harry’s diagnosed with depression a year after they’ve reconciled, Zayn gives him extra blowjobs when Darcy’s asleep and has his Prozac ready for him each morning with a cup of Earl Grey.

It comes like clockwork now, the cycle of family and friends and marriage and coming of age as time passes before their eyes like a middle-aged white man in the driver’s seat of a Porsche. Sometimes it’s sad and the fights are labourous and nauseating, but things are good slow in the middle of the night when Zayn is drilling Darcy with flashcards (she’s just recalled that one Chem exam tomorrow) and Harry is up too, pumping their veins full of Yorkshire.


End file.
